26 June 2012

We met at a wine bar in Newport Beach. Bored and companionless for the evening, I had decided to go out on my own. I stood at the bar, drinking cabernet sauvignon, watching a recording of the Germany-Greece football match from earlier in the day. I can appreciate good wine--I was practically raised on the stuff--but I'm just not that into it. Still, female wine drinkers can be an amusingly superficial, silly lot and wine bars tend to attract a certain kind of young woman. Years of hitting the upscale bar scene alone or with a friend or two have made me extremely confident in this environment.

Surrounded by an orbit of flirtatious women in tight clothing, whose interest in me was as obvious as their perfume was strong, I noticed her sitting with another girl at a nearby table. When her friend momentarily got up and left, I walked over, smiling, wine glass in hand. She looked like a much younger version of the actress Marisa Tomei. I said something that made her laugh, ordered her another glass, and then said we should get two seats at the bar where I could watch the end of the game. Her friend returned briefly, and then said her goodbyes. Later, over a bottle of pinot noir, we discovered shared tastes in politics, movies, and sex. She was recently separated, she told me, and lived nearby with a roommate.

She tried to spring a jealousy shit test on me. When she started chatting with two young men at a nearby table who had been staring at her, I merely laughed and gently encouraged her. They were friendly chaps and the conversation soon turned to Euro 2012. When one of them made a suggestive remark to her, she rubbed my back and replied: "No, he doesn't get jealous". Which is true. From that moment she couldn't take her hands off me, slowly rubbing her hips on my thigh or stroking my large, tanned forearms.

At my place she stood in the library, glass of water in hand, admiring the books, framed prints, and various exotic souvenirs, occasionally asking a question about one item or another. We soon kissed, undressed, and went upstairs. She smelled deliciously of coconut body oil. In between bouts of sweaty sex, where I pounded her into the bed, she discussed her failing marriage. She made a comment that I found very interesting: "I don't want a man to feel as if his happiness depends on me." Obvious, of course, but the reminder alone was worth the soaked, stained sheets. It is something that all men, expecially single men, should take to heart and be reminded of now and then. One's happiness does not depend on a woman, but rather on achieving success in other arenas, at the office, on the sports field, in the studio, or in battle. Satisfaction comes from manly accomplishment. Stay focused and take your own side first. Put yourself above all--and women will, too.

That was several days ago. I haven't contacted her since. I did find an elastic hairband of hers on the floor behind the bed, which I disposed of in case certain interested parties found it. But last night, as I was draining the last cocktail of the evening and getting ready to head upstairs to bed, she texted me: "I've been thinking about Friday night. I want more of what you've got". Stay tuned.

24 comments:

Anonymous
said...

Admiral Cod,

I love posts like these because they remind me of myself 2-3 years ago. There is nothing quite like going to bars and picking up women. It is a subtle art and I tried very hard to perfect it. However, in my experience, I have learned that you cannot prepare for it. It is blind chance. Some nights, for example, when I wasn't even expecting to go out and get laid, have been some of my best and most successful, when I was dressed in scrubs and in the company of scrubs.

You are right about wine bars. Girls go to wine bars under the pretense of enjoying the presence of sophistication and class, and so they naturally assume that well-dressed men drinking at the bar are the epitome of these things.

However, I have learned a lot about myself through these sexual conquests, as I sure you have about yourself. I have learned that I am quite unusual in this respect. Nearly all of my friends, and most people generally, go out to bars to enjoy the company of their friends. I could care less. I use my friends as wingman, and nothing else. I enjoy their company ONLY to the extent that they can help me get laid. That is all. That is why I have trouble keeping friends. When they find this out about me, they tend to abandon my company. The same applies to my conquests. I have trouble keeping relationships. The girls accuse me of being selfish, but I like to think it is a bit deeper than that. I am naturally a bit of a misanthrope, and dislike continued and persistent contact with people. That is why the ideal sexual conquest is a woman in her mid-30's. Women like that don't have false hopes of committed relationships. They want casual sex, preceded by a nice evening at a classy bar drinking fine wine. Of course, I am happy to oblige.

So, I would caution you against this young girl. She seems naive, and may begin to expect certain things from you. Don't let her get comfortable in your home, and don't indulge her texts, which I imagine will become increasingly frequent in the very near future.

In short, I think we are very much on the same page. But I suspect that I am even more depraved. Socializing with friends has absolutely ZERO interest for me. When I go to bars with friends, the only thing on my mind is picking up girls. It is a sick condition of mine. That is the only interest of mine. And the only cure for this condition is complete isolation from society, which I indulge in from time to time. But then, after a while, when I have occasion to re-enter society, the beast comes out again, and I prowl the bar scene for women of all kinds.

I've got a story, and this is coming form the person that authored the first comment to this post.

Last Friday night, I went with some friends to a wild college-filled bar. We arrived around 12:30 at night. The bar was outside, and the bar itself was a long wrap-around bar, and so made for easy mingling with all of the students. I also remember that the ground was made of sand, which I suspect was in keeping with the bar's overall "beach" theme.

Anyway, as is my wont, I quickly departed from the company of my friends, and went straight to the bar. I singled out a group of girls and walked up right next to them. They were clearly wasted, and one in particular was eyeing me. I looked at her and smiled. Conversation was pointless because the bar was so loud. I then ordered 2 (flavored) shots, and gave one of them to her. We took them together and then I knew I had her. At one point she began rubbing her hand up and down my chest, and I said that we should leave. She agreed and told me to follow her. She dragged me into the girls bathroom, which was packed full of girls, and I stood right outside the stall she was in, waiting for her to finish up. I remember thinking to myself, cad that I am, that I could possibly try to hit on all these girls in the bathroom, but my better sense told me to stick with the girl I was already with.

Then, once we left the bar, we took a taxi back to my house. I remember the girl taunting the cab driver, and my only concern was that she wouldn't upset him too much that he would force us to get out of the cab. That, I noted, would bring an end to my night, and stop me from getting laid. I remember cringing the entire ride home, hoping that my conquest wouldn't upset the cab driver too much.

But, we made it home without incident, and proceeded quickly to get undressed and begin having sex. Now, the first thing a man like myself hopes for, is for a nice and sensuous smell from down below (if you know what I mean). Fortunately, I have gotten pretty good at predicting this by just looking at the girl. Typically, though not always, if a girl has nice nails and toes, she will have a nice smell. So, the sexual experience was thoroughly enjoyable, although something unexpected happened. After finishing, I noticed that the condom had broken. This was bad. I also knew that I didnt want her staying over, because I knew we would have nothing in common with eachother the next morning.

So, knowing that the friends I went to the bar with were doing nothing, I called them and insisted that they pick me up at my place. They were there within 15 minutes, and me and my girt got into their car. I then ordered the driver to take me to Walgreens, where I spent $45 on the morning after pill. After dropping the girl off at her place, my friends then insisted that I treat them to food for doing me the favor of picking them up. Not wanting to do this at all, I also realized that I would probably need their services in the future, and so I agreed to go to a late-night pizza place, where I had to buy them each 4 large slices of pizza. I just sat there with a subtle grin on my face, happy that I got mine.

Still, however, you have to ask yourself --- I spent $45 on that pill, $25 on the cab ride, and about $20 on pizza -- all for thwat??? A brief sexual encounter with a complete stranger?

I sometimes ask myself if it is even all worth it. But I know the answer doesn't matter. I have a sick addiction.

I'm with Pat on this one Fogey - you will definitely be first up against the wall when my revolution comes.

On the plus side for you, you will be blessed with the company of your wingman Anonymous in your cell for your last meal. You guys can regale each other with stories of your amorous exploits over truffles with lashings of hot screwdriver.

Have you come across the 'Shades of Grey' trilogy (allegedly erotica), set in the USA but written by an illiterate Croydon housewife, who cannot even place Seattle? Apparently, through some blagging or other, Random House (that great repository of literary genius-spotting)has made this tosh into a No 1 best-seller. Your post reminds me of a book which my parents mistakenly allowed me to take out of a library when I was a bout ten: it was called 'Walter: My Secret Life' and was the life and times of an Edwardian rake. More hole-in-the-corner (so to speak) than your piece (with opportunistic banging in coaches and ante-rooms etc..), it was well written and extremely instructive. The world is obviously gagging for this kind of thing so why not let the world have it in a literary form?

How is this being ignored? Never let a woman decide your career/life goal either. It is test. If you fold and don't go for your goals because of her, she will hate you forever. If you stand firm and dictate your path she will always admire.

Course the best way for women when one is young, poor, and full of energy is a combat soldier...Infantry not that POG shit.

In my home, thankfully, I am the queen bee and that's how it is supposed to be. It is one of the positives of my happy marriage. I have never cared much for the bar scene. Plus, if I ever told my mother that I met guy at a bar, she would automatically begin to question HIS integrity.

Your last few phrases about satisfaction is nothing but that said by a lonely, cold-hearted and egotistical man. When you meet a woman that will make your world stop, you'll then feel like a moron for saying women have no affect on your success. Because only until you feel the true love for a woman, will you be able to understand your success.